As some of you know, I have been in the process of moving since last July. That s when I put my house in Maine on the market and began to pack. I spent 6 months worrying about whether the house would ever sell, spending money I didn t have to make the house more appealing to prospective buyers, and sorting through all of my stuff, deciding what to keep and what to let go of (literally and metaphorically).

Then one day in early January, I was elated to receive and accept an offer on my house. The joy lasted about 24 hours. Then panic set in. I realized for all the work I had done, I still had so much to do. And more worries. What would the home inspection show? What if the buyer s couldn t get financing? What if something goes wrong at the last minute at closing?

I'm tired because I couldn't sleep last night. I kept waking up and staring at my scars which were barely visible in the light of the lamp on the nightstand next to my bed. I kept the light on because I couldn't bear to be in the dark again.

As I watched the Olympics last night I couldn't concentrate. My eyes invariably went back, time and again, to the scars.

I remember so clearly what the doctor said to me when I woke up in the hospital. He told me the scars would never go away, that when I looked at them they would remind me how close I had come to the end of my life.

He was wrong, when I look at the scars it never crosses my mind how close I had come to death. When I look at the scars I'm reminded of the end of my childhood dreams. I'm reminded of how many things ended in those days and months. I'm reminded of the terror I felt, the horror of not being in charge, the outrage felt by others shaping my future.

catch it and hold it still in your hand, listen to what rises beyond El Norte:

The following is drawn from the text of a speech given on December 24 at the "In Defense of Humanity" conference.

Our Struggle is Against US Imperialism

I Believe Only in the Power of the People

By EVO MORALES

What happened these past days in Bolivia was a great revolt by those who have been oppressed for more than 500 years. The will of the people was imposed this September and October, and has begun to overcome the empire's cannons. We have lived for so many years through the confrontation of two cultures: the culture of life represented by the indigenous people, and the culture of death represented by West. When we the indigenous people--together with the workers and even the businessmen of our country--fight for life and justice, the State responds with its "democratic rule of law."

My mother once said to me when I was in my early thirties, "God am I so glad that I hit menopause, no more worries about men, now I can do what I want." as she related how she was planning to do some research in the Amazon. She's an anthropologist. She fought hard for her degree, losing my father in the process and having to raise five children and losing two (my brother and I) to a typical custody battle with all the typical white male priviledge of money and power.

So here I am, forty-one. I have fought my battles, fought a custody battle and won for my own children, raised them and now I am doing what I want. No longer a slave to the breeder function that my then husband wanted me to be. No longer feeling that being a 'good girl' has anything to do with meeting my own needs.

Art and text by Thalia Took:
used with her gracious permisson

"I reside in each warm heart."

"Cailleach" derives from the old Irish caillech, or "the veiled one". The modern word cailleach means "old woman" or "hag" in Gaelic. The Cailleach is a widespread form of Celtic hag-goddess tied to the land and the weather who has many variants in the British Isles.

The Caillagh ny Groamagh ("Gloomy Old Woman", also called the Caillagh ny Gueshag, "Old Woman of the Spells") of the Isle of Man is a winter and storm spirit whose actions on the 1st of February are said to foretell the year's weather--if it is a nice day, She will come out into the sun, which brings bad luck for the year. The Cailleach Uragaig, of the Isle of Colonsay in Scotland, is also a winter spirit who holds a young woman captive, away from her lover.

I really think life is all about discovering who we really are, then scrambling to keep up with an ever changing self after that: at least that s how it feels to me. So often this is a very long, confusing, and often painful process.

I marvel at how deeply old negative programming can be buried in an endless pile of layers that can only be removed one at a time, the same way they were inserted into our consciousness. I marvel that even after years of digging into those piles, there always seems to be still more layers to discover, then strip away. Can I possible live long enough, I wonder, to get to the bottom of the pile? The most recent piece of proof that layers still exist slapped me up side the head yesterday, shouting , "Ah HA! GOtcha!"